


Something Missing

by elphishing



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Canon Compliant, Depressed Newt, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Minho finds Newt, Mix of Book and Film Elements, Newt POV, No Romance, No Thomas, Oneshot, POV Newt (Maze Runner), Permanent Injury, Pre-Canon, Prologue, Protective Minho, Recovery, References to Depression, Standalone, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Supportive Minho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elphishing/pseuds/elphishing
Summary: 'I could still feel...that something was missing,'Newt never really gave the Glade a chance. He was impatient; itching to run, to escape, to get out. But some of them have been here over a year and there is no way out. Nothing. Newt feels the loss of his memories eating away at him, until there's nothing left and he just has to get out. One way or another.Set before TMR, Newt's fall and the aftermath/recovery. Stay safe, don't read if the subject matter is sensitive for you!





	Something Missing

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first work for TMR, and the first thing I've written in a hell of a long time. I just felt that Newt's character in canon is so fascinating, and has so much more to tell, so hopefully this will become a prologue to my version of the series from Newt's POV. We'll see. 
> 
> Please, please be careful and don't read if you know the subject matter is an issue. I don't go into detail on the injuries, or his depression, but it's from Newt's POV and he's struggling, and the Glade isn't the best place to recover from something like this. 
> 
> But otherwise, I hope you enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated <3

Newt was flying. There was no other way to describe it, when his feet moved without thought and the air brushed his skin and cooled his brow, and he felt so _free_ he could shout with joy. But he didn’t, because someone might hear, and this morning he didn’t want anyone to hear.

When he ran like this, so hard he felt like his knees shook with every stride and his lungs sucked in enough air to power a hurricane, he could go fast enough to force his mind blank. To only leave room for those short phrases embedded in his brain, rehearsed late into the night so he knew he wouldn’t mess this up. He couldn’t mess this up.

_Third Left_

_Second Right_

_Right_

_Second Left_

_Left_

He knew his phrases would run out, knew he was running into the unknown, but his strides didn’t falter, his resolve absolute. This time, he’d made his decision. Before, he had hesitated, had paused, had weakened and slunk back to the Glade because maybe, just maybe, something would change. But nothing ever did. This time, he would go through with it because nothing was ever _going_ to change. He was a Runner, he was their _fastest_ Runner, he knew that better than anyone.

There was nothing for him in the Glade, and no way out. That foolish spark of hope he’d had when he had first arrived had long since burnt out, nothing left but dust and ash and a bitter taste in his mouth. Now there was nothing else to cover that hollow feeling he felt spreading through his limbs, draining him of energy, of patience, of anything.

Hope wasn’t what was fuelling him now. He didn’t rely on hope anymore, had accepted that it was pointless, that when the only reason to hope is to be able to hide from the truth, well, it’s not much of a reason. Better to face the problem head on and admit when you’re beat. There’s no winning this fight, and that hollowness, that _emptiness_ was only making itself more known the longer he tried to hold on.

_Something was missing._

He knew that, whatever memories he’d had, they’d taken something big. Something he hadn’t wanted to forget. Something… he had no idea, and anytime he _tried_ , tried to push back against the sheer blank wall that was his memories, all he got was an unnatural anger, a frustration so deeply rooted he knew it wasn’t just from him, the now him, but from the _old_ him. That’s how he knew that they’d taken more than just memories. Something was missing, but he had no idea what and that hollow feeling only ever got worse.

_Second Right_

_Fourth Left_

_Left_

_Second Right_

_Right_

_Third Left_

He was hurtling towards the end of his phrases, towards the edges of what they knew. They were plotting the Maze in sections, working slowly, thoroughly, leaving no corner unturned before moving on. But they’d only been here a year, and Newt only a few months. They’d only gotten so far. Newt was about to run passages no Glader had run before, but there was no excitement, no trepidation, nothing.

Just emptiness.

_Left_

_Second Left_

_Right_

_Third Left_

_Right_

_Left_

_Fourth Right_

Newt turned and his right leg shook as he put weight on it, causing him to stagger into the new passage. This was it. Now it’s up to him.

_Bloody hell._

There were no more phrases, nothing to keep his brain quiet and his stride finally faltered as his thoughts made themselves known with a vengeance. _Something missing. Something missing. Empty. Nothing. Nothing here. No way out. Out. Get out._ He turned randomly, just running, running on and on into nothing. _Nothing._

He had no idea where he was, no idea what time it was, no idea where in the Maze the other Runners would be today. Newt had thought this through, he’d left all his Runner gear behind except for his shoes. He needed those.

Eventually, he skidded to a halt. The passage he was in ended at a T-junction, and he’d hesitated to pick a direction. Good enough reason as any to stop. As it was almost everywhere, the ivy was thick on the wall opposite, so that’d do. Newt let his breaths slowly even out, staring up and trying to silence his thoughts for _just a_ _few damn minutes more_.

Newt gripped the vines and pulled. Nothing budged, nothing creaked, no sign that they wouldn’t be able to hold his weight. Perfect. He climbed.

Up and up he went, never once looking down. He wanted to go up. There was nothing back on the ground. _Nothing._ He climbed on.

Until the ivy stopped. The wall stretched on above him, as far as he could see, but the ivy went no further.

_The ivy doesn’t go all the way to the top._

Newt cursed, and finally looked down. He wasn’t as high as he wanted, but it would have to do.

His hands were shaking, palms sweating, and he hated his nerves as he clung to the vines. He tried to slow his breathing, tried to get himself back under control, but he closed his eyes and shook his head and still couldn’t stop the tears from leaking out.

_You idiot. You bloody shank. Sort yourself out, shuckface. You’re gonna do it. No use crying about it._

He forced himself to take three deep, slow breaths.

_In, and out._

_In, and out._

_In, and out._

Then, with new determination, he straightened, opened his eyes, and let go.

Newt was flying. There was no other way to describe it. He was _free_.

Until he wasn’t. Suddenly his leg jerked, pulled in some unnatural direction and stretched hard, too hard. It snapped. Newt screamed.

He wasn’t flying, he was falling. Falling, but the ivy was clawing at him, at his leg, his useless mess of a limb that snapped twice more before the ivy finally let him go, but Newt was beyond knowing.

He hit the ground, hard.

 

***

 

 _Something missing._ And pain.

That was all that filled Newt’s mind.

He welcomed the darkness gladly.

 

***

 

The darkness didn’t want to let Newt go. It reached for him stubbornly, holding on to him when it was long past its time. Of course, it didn’t help that Newt reached back, trying to stay wrapped in the blackness, protected, safe, _free._

Eventually though, the pain made itself known, and it tore through any shroud, any semblance of protection. It tore through everything, and Newt screamed.

 

***

 

 _Snapped in three places,_ they told him. _Permanent damage._

_You might never walk again._

Newt didn’t scream anymore. The pain wasn’t sharp, it didn’t tear. It had settled to a dull ache, a numbness to match everything else.

He’d tried to set himself free, and now he was only more trapped.

_You’ll never run like you used to. Sorry, Newt._

There wasn’t enough left of him to cry.

_Nothing._

 

***

 

It isn’t Clint that’s sat by Newt’s cot the next time he’s awake. It’s Minho.

And Minho’s crying.

Newt’s arm reaches towards his friend, trying to comfort, to help.

‘Minho?’ His mouth feels like it’s full of dirt, his throat full of knives. He tries again. ‘Minho? What’s wrong?’

Minho grasps onto Newt’s hand desperately, and laughs as if pained through thick, silent sobs.

‘What’s _wrong?_ You damn slinthead. What’s _wrong?!’_

Newt was barely conscious; the world was blurry, and he didn’t understand anything.

‘No, don’t you _dare_ black out on me. You’re done sleeping. You’re gonna _live_ , you hear me?’

Suddenly the hand clutching Newt’s was tight, pulling, and Newt sat up so he didn’t fall off the cot.

After god-knows how long lying down, though, his head objected thoroughly to being upright once more. Newt groaned, burying his face into his other hand as though he could root through his eyeballs and pull out the source of pain.

‘…probably should have been more gentle. Sorry, man, I’m no Med-jack,’

Newt lets his head stop throbbing. Eventually it’s numb too.

‘Then what are you doing here?’

Minho’s expression changes, and Newt’s too tired to deal with this.

‘I’m here because you’re my _friend,_ and I _care about you_.’ His eyes were fire, his nose flared, ‘Is that such a shucking crime?’

Newt shook his head, already drained. Minho huffed in disappointment and stood.

‘We need to talk about this, you and me. Once you’re in a fit state to listen.’

He left, and Newt was alone. Alone with nothing but the numbness, and the thoughts spinning behind his eyelids. The silence was oppressing, pushing him back down to the cot and pinning him there.

_Something missing._

 

***

 

The next time he woke, he sat up on his own. Clint was moving around the room, showing another boy where some tools were kept.

‘Clint?’

They both jumped and turned with wide eyes. Clint’s face broke into a grin, eyes sparkling.

‘Hey, Newt! You feeling better?’

Newt nodded, and it was true. He felt properly awake this time.

‘Great!’ He turned to the boy at his side, and Newt turned his gaze too.

Newt didn’t recognise the boy, and he flinched at the implication.

‘How long have I been here?’

Clint’s smile dropped, turning back to face Newt and then back to the boy, his mouth falling open as realisation hit.

‘Oh… Newt, this is Jeff! He’s this month’s Greenie, and he’s been helping me look after you.’

Newt nodded, shooting a low, ‘Thanks,’ at Jeff before turning his attention back to Clint.

‘So I’ve been out for a month?’

Clint looked nervous, wringing his hands slightly.

‘…Nearly two, actually.’ He whispered, apologetic. ‘Next Greenie’s due next week,’

Newt nodded. The time didn’t really bother him – he’d wanted to be gone much longer, after all.

‘On the plus side, it’s given your leg loads of time to heal! It’s doing really well!’ Clint exclaimed, the smile only slightly forced.

His leg. Newt hadn’t noticed the pain, it was so familiar now. He looked down at the blanket on his lap. Clint paled.

‘Newt… You’re gonna need a crutch for at least a couple months, and then we can try some weight on it after that.’

Newt swallowed, fiddling with his hands as he digested the information. _No way out. Nothing._

‘It’s pretty bad, man. I did the best I could, but…’ Clint gestured to the shelves of supplies, and Newt understood.

‘Don’t worry, mate. I know you did. It’ll be fine,’ He didn’t know if he believed the words, but he knew Clint needed to hear them.

He was right, the boy let out a heavy breath and relaxed, before some of the previous spark returned to his eyes.

‘Speaking of, Jeff’s been working on a crutch the last week or so. Wanna try it out?’

 

***

 

Recovery was _hard._ Even with a crutch, even with Jeff always around to help, his leg would protest at the slightest movement, at the smallest disturbance.

Although there was a bright side; Newt had finally gotten to know Jeff well enough to stop feeling guilty for having missed almost his entire month as Greenie. There was another new kid now, Ben, and Newt had volunteered to give him the tour seeing as everyone else had proper jobs to be doing. Alby had approved the idea, eyeing Newt with an expression he wasn’t sure how to read. He was just determined not to let someone else appear without even knowing.

Keeping an eye on everyone else was working fairly well to distract him, but not well enough. He still couldn’t get into a hammock with only one leg, and so lived alone in the Med-jack hut, despair wrapping him in a cloud of clammy skin and sleepless nights.

_Something missing_

It was Minho that noticed. It was Minho that cornered him one evening, following Newt when he slipped quietly away after dinner.

‘We need to talk.’ There was no argument from Newt. He just nodded and limped on, swaying on his crutch.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Minho throwing him looks every couple of seconds, sometimes concerned, sometimes frustrated.

The second Newt sat down on his cot, he burst.

‘What are you _playing_ at, Newt?’ His eyes were bright, angry fires, ‘What’s with this _act_?’

Newt didn’t want him to be so perceptive. ‘What act?’

The other boy burnt out as suddenly as he’d exploded. He sighed sadly.

‘Just, I don’t want you to have to _pretend_ to be better. I want you to actually be better,’

Newt’s head dropped.

‘I haven’t told anyone what happened,’

He snapped his neck up again. ‘What?’

Minho’s face creased, as though trying to hold his composure. He looked up at the ceiling rather than meet Newt’s eye.

‘That day… I was the one who found you, Newt. I got you back here.’

Newt lay down, jerkily. Stunned. Speechless.

‘When I saw you… I knew what you’d done.’ Minho’s eyes had dropped back to Newt, and he was speaking softly, so gently, as though Newt might break.

‘I jumped.’ Newt said.

Minho visibly flinched.

‘I fell, I broke my leg, I hit the floor.’ Newt was dispassionate, cold. He could be talking about the weather. ‘I should have died.’

‘ _No!’_ Suddenly Minho was next to him, grabbing him by the shoulders, forcing eye contact. ‘Don’t you ever say that. Don’t you _dare._ ’

Newt froze.

‘We’re all in this _together_ , Newt. Don’t you get that?’ Minho wouldn’t let go, his grip iron, his eyes aflame. ‘Everyone hates it. Everyone’s stuck here. Everyone’s lost their memories.’

Swallowing, Newt glanced away, and back again.  

‘But we all have each other, and that’s the most important thing,’ Minho continued. ‘We’re gonna get through this, and we’re gonna do it together. Everyone’s gotta play their part.’

Newt’s gaze dropped past Minho, to his leg. ‘But I’m a Runner, and I can’t run.’

‘So, you do something _else.’_ Minho shook his shoulders to get his eye contact back.

‘Like what?’

Minho sighed, his grip relaxing. But he didn’t sit back down. ‘You’ll have to talk to Alby about that one. But you’ll find a place, alright?’

Newt nodded, mute. He knew Minho was right, knew everyone was going through the same thing and that was why the Glade worked, that they were all there for each other. But it hadn’t helped. Maybe he just wasn’t strong enough, maybe he wasn’t made of the right stuff.

But he nodded. Minho seemed partially satisfied, at least. He let go of Newt’s shoulders.

‘Promise me you’ll try?’

‘I promise.’ Newt mumbled.

‘And I won’t tell anyone.’ Minho said, earning a look from Newt, ‘But please, man, promise to talk to me? If it gets bad, just say something.’

Newt nodded again, a small smile forming, foreign on his lips, as he realised that maybe there was something here that didn’t make him feel empty, didn’t _let_ him feel empty.

 

***

 

It took time. Of course it did. But Newt found his feet – both literally and figuratively. He would never be able to walk without a limp, never be able to run, a constant reminder of what this Maze had taken from him, but now he had a purpose.

He’d never really given the Glade a chance, but now he embraced it. Funny, really, how being unable to leave gives you a new perspective.

Months passed on his crutch, and then painfully, _agonisingly_ slowly learning to walk again. He’d relearnt the Track-hoe trade, the Gardens becoming his sanctuary as he spent hours tending the plants and simply whiling the hours away, enjoying his thoughts rather than hiding from them.

Newt had been a Track-hoe when he first arrived in the Glade, and had been impatient and unhelpful, feeling useless, ignored, itching to find a way out, to _escape._ That damn naïve _kid_ that he’d been, so excited when he became a Runner, so _convinced_ that he’d find a way out where none had before. Although that dream was dead and buried, he returned to the Gardens happily, finding a place there that he had never let himself settle for back then.

His role had expanded recently, though. Newt made it a personal mission to get to know every Glader, to not let anyone slip through the net, to make sure no one could ever feel like he once had. It became his unofficial job to integrate the Greenies, to give them the tour and answer their questions. He’d gotten closer to Alby, often advising him on what jobs the Greenies would be suited to, and then spending hours together discussing anything and everything.

It still came as a surprise, when Alby asked him if he’d be his second-in-command. It had been over 8 months since his fall, and sometimes he still felt that old despair. _Something missing_. But in that moment, he realised how far he’d come. How he’d managed to find his place, to contribute, to help. They all had each other, and now he knew how important that really was.

There was a party, of course. The bonfire was huge, Gally’s brew was stronger than ever, and the laughter was infectious. The newest Greenie, a boy called Jack, had clung to Newt’s side for the first few hours, but eventually got over his shyness with enough to drink and had disappeared into the night. He had a tendency to become invisible, to fade into the background, that Newt knew could become an issue.

But that was a concern for tomorrow. The end was drawing near now, and most of the boys had gone to bed – a party didn’t mean a lie-in the next day. Newt, Alby and Minho were among the last still talking, still holding onto the evening’s joy for as long as possible. But they still had to get up in the morning, and night was drawing in.

Minho kicked some dirt into the fire and stood, stretching. ‘Well, I dunno about you shanks, but I’m gonna call it a day,’

Alby stood as well, nodding. ‘It’s bedtime, alright. You coming, Newt?’

‘Nah, think I’ll stay a bit longer. Need some time to think,’

‘We can stay with you, if you like.’ Alby offered, smiling kindly.

‘I’ll be alright, just want a minute to myself,’

‘You sure?’ He softened at Minho’s look of concern, knowing it had every right to be there.

‘I’m fine, ya shanks, now go on, get out of here.’

Finally, they got the hint, and turned to leave. With one last look back from Minho, reassured when he received a nod and smile in return, his friends were gone.

Newt sat alone, as the last embers of the fire flickered out, leaving only the delicate glow of the evening sun. He didn’t feel alone though, not anymore. Not like he once had. The Glade no longer felt empty and cold, but instead thrummed with energy and life. In the gentle, fading light of dusk, Newt allowed himself a small smile as he watched his friends, his _family_ , settling down for the night, the low hum of chatter slowly giving way to silence, to peace.

He turned back to look at the sky, now awash in blushing pink and burning red. The sun flashed as it met the stone horizon, as though bidding them goodnight, and suddenly the Glade was bathed in rich gold, the walls glowing as the light caught in each leaf of ivy, blanketing the Glade in dancing shadows.

Newt’s breath caught. He’d never seen it before, never thought he could ever think such a thing, but the Glade was _beautiful_. His gaze swept over the Homestead, its rough timbers and edges softened by the golden air, and then moved to the Deadheads, a place that some found unsettling but now looked so _alive,_ the trees and grasses and wildflowers exalting in the sun’s worship. Newt felt a soft smile curve his lip as he imagined their lost friends dancing among the flowers, casting the flickering shadows he could see through the branches. Next was the Blood House, which never looked welcoming but, in this light, in this moment of magic, even its grim façade could be forgiven. The Gardens though, his favourite place, his sanctuary, they were alight in glory. He knew, he _knew_ , that everything they grew was for a purpose, for food or medicine or construction, but the sun didn’t discriminate, making the flowers and the leaves of those practical plants shine like jewels.

For the first time in his short memory, Newt felt _pride_ , felt it pushing out from his chest and covering everything he saw in his sheer emotion. He was so proud of what they had built, what they had achieved. Maybe it was all they knew, maybe someone had put them here and taken their memories, maybe they would never escape, maybe there was no way out, and maybe, _just maybe_ , that was alright.

Because the Glade was his _home_ , and these boys were his family. And as long as they had each other, Newt knew they could survive, could _thrive_. He hadn’t noticed the grin form, but now his cheeks were aching and his eyes were watering and the sun just winked, as though it knew what it had done, and then it slipped beneath the walls and was gone.


End file.
